The worst

Cliff Baugh

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Cliff worked for WH from November 1st 1935 to January 7th 1936. He was the meanest, most miserable man he’d ever met, Cliff said, worse even than Johnny, who like WH (and Cliff) came from Lancashire. Cliff felt this didn’t say much for his fellow countrymen.

The following starts in the first person, written by Cliff. it ends with third-person
additions written by me based on his notes. ~ Ian

Milking began at 4:30 am, at which time I would get the cows in and my fellow labourer Eric would feed the pigs. WH’s son Jack would then appear with a cup of tea and a slice of bread and dripping for each of us. After milking, Eric and I would come up without a second to waste, go to our hut, have a wash, make our beds and go to the house for breakfast. If we appeared to take too long, WH would blow a whistle and we would be stirred up for slacking.

As we walked in the door for breakfast WH would look at the clock. Exactly half an hour later we’d be handed a newspaper parcel of sandwiches for lunch and sent to work. The sandwiches consisted of bread, dripping and jam, or any commodity that could be bought cheaply at the time. Every Friday WH would go to the auction mart to make food purchases for the following week. There would be sacks of cabbages, swedes, turnips, carrots etc — anything that was selling cheaply would form the basis of what we ate for the following week.”

WH had had a broken leg or some such injury. He walked with a stick and carried with him grievances against the world in general and us in particular. The stick was continually flailed about as he enumerated our faults.

Frequently he would be hammering on the door of our hut before 4:30 am to stir us along. Our work consisted of cutting gorse, fencing and the usual farm jobs. We had half an hour for lunch and were promptly back into action again.

At 4 pm I would get the cows in while Eric fed the pigs, and son Jack would arrive with the usual cup of tea and slice of bread and dripping. After milking Eric and I would go to our hut to get cleaned up for dinner. There we’d wait until the whistle blew to indicate dinner was ready. Dinner was a much more leisurely meal. An hour, more or less, was allowed, and it was then indicated that we should go to our hut. We didn’t in the least regret this, for the company could not have been described as amiable.§

Eric and I got along well together. He’d arrived two days after me. WH told me later that Eric was on probation from the Justice Department for some crime or other. Eric had described to me some rough goings-on in Wellington, so that could’ve been true. Nevertheless we got along fine together, and we wrote to each other frequently for a long time afterwards. We would walk to Whangarei on Friday or Saturday nights, go to the pictures, and on the way home fill up on food. We would buy a loaf of bread and a tin of condensed milk, break the bread in half and pour on the condensed milk. It made quite a tasty supper to sustain us on our long walk home.

§

The morning after I arrived I experienced WH’s duplicity, if that’s the word, for the first time. I was to shift a Jersey bull from one paddock to another and then report for further orders. Luckily I’d had a lot of experience dealing with bulls or I could’ve been killed or badly injured. The bull was grazing in a large roadside paddock next to a creek. The gate I had to drive him through was the best part of 100 yards away and I decided to drive him towards the gate before I opened it. I suppose I was only about 20 yards away when he became aware of my presence. His reaction was immediate. With his head down he pawed the ground and charged at me, roaring in anger as he came. Not having been warned I had no means of defence whatsoever.

There was no time to think things over. Bluff it had to be. I yelled and swore at him and flailed my arms about as I backed away. He would roar, paw the ground, charge and then stop, afraid no doubt that I did have something to hit him with. I frantically glanced around looking for something, but all I could see was a fragile piece of rotten wood. Backing away, I grabbed it and used it to threaten him. It seemed to work. The roaring, pawing and short charges continued as I backed towards the gate. He would come to a snorting stop about 3 feet away. It was a great relief to reach that gate and jump over it. He had two very sharp horns and I’d had a lucky escape.

But he was still in the same paddock as before and my job was unfinished. And he was still threatening me on the other side of the gate, bellowing and pawing the ground. I opened the gate and he charged through it. As he passed I made a rapid exit in the opposite direction. Thank God that was over. I was extremely annoyed but decided that perhaps WH wasn’t aware that the bull was dangerous. I certainly wouldn’t be caught again.

About an hour later I was working close to the house when WH’s son Jack appeared and climbed over the fence into the bull’s paddock. This was interesting. I looked for the bull. There was no sign of him. But there was a patch of ti-tree in the middle of the paddock, and that’s where he was, out of sight. Jack started to walk across the paddock. Surely he knew the bull was there. I decided to wait and see. It was a big paddock. On the far side of the ti-tree the bull saw Jack and Jack saw the bull. There wasn’t a split second of doubt what Jack was going to do. I’m sure it was the fastest he’d ever run in his life. Ahead of him was the creek. What would he do? Jack decided to jump it. Anyone who knows that creek knows that isn’t possible. The bull certainly knew and didn’t attempt it. There was no mention of the incident by anyone, which perhaps illustrates the poor relationships that existed there.

§

Next day Pegleg, one of the local drovers, arrived with a mob of cattle to pick up the bull and take him to the sale yards. It’s easy to imagine what happened when the bull arrived in Kamo. It cleared the streets and I believe there was hell to pay. Pegleg certainly abused WH for not warning him.

§

At the start of milking one afternoon, whilst having my usual slice of bread and dripping and cup of tea, I decided to have a cup of fresh milk, something I’d been in the habit of doing on other farms. The first lot of cups were on the cows, so I put my cup under the releaser, and was about to drink it when WH arrived. “If you want to drink milk here you can have skim milk. You are not to drink whole milk. I’m not going to have that.” From then onwards I would hold my cup under the separator’s skim milk pipe until it had a good layer of froth on it, then hold it under the cream spout. On another occasion I was emptying a small can of cream into a larger one with WH present. He demonstrated how I should do it. With his fingers he very carefully removed every vestige of cream from that can.
Life progressed in this manner until Jack’s brother Charlie arrived home, and WH’s temper worsened. He found a reason to sack Eric, now that he wasn’t needed with his son Charlie home. Now I was alone in the hut.

I became very sorry for Jack’s wife Ethel. Overhearing a conversation between Jack and Charlie, which disgusted me and I won’t repeat, I learned that Jack and Ethel had had a shotgun wedding. Ethel was in a dreadful situation. Love did not exist. She had always appeared to be unhappy, and no wonder.

WH was really very well organised. We worked Monday to Saturday inclusive. On Sunday I could have time off — that is, after scrubbing the floor of my hut, doing my washing and cutting with an axe two barrows full of wood. All of this was of course subject to inspection. WH liked it to be finished soon enough that he wouldn’t have to give me lunch. I usually finished at about 11 am, when I would set off for home. I had to be back for milking at 4 pm.

§

On New Year’s Day 1936, a Wednesday, Cliff had the day off. He rode home for the day, went to the baths, met up with a couple of girls and arranged to go to Ngunguru the following Sunday, his next day off, with his friend Bert Stringfellow. No real hope of that happening, he thought, given the extra travelling, and working for WH.

The next week was eventful. Cliff wrote it up in a diary he’d just begun, although his fountain pen was proving a bit troublesome. WH had bought it on the cheap by mail and sold it on to Cliff, assuring him it was a bargain. Cliff was sure WH thought this was a big joke.

The day after New Year, Thursday, he was up at 4.30 to milk, then off to the beach with Charlie. He had a good day’s outing, though Charlie injured his leg in the rough seas. WH told Cliff he’d have to work hard to make up for the time off.
Friday was uneventful. He cleaned out the calf shed in the morning, chopped wood in the afternoon and argued with WH, who seemed to find fault with everything he did.

On Saturday he got into bed at 10.00pm after repairing two punctures in the rear tyre of his motor bike — right through both tyre and tube —for which he was sure WH was responsible. Maybe he was getting a bit paranoid, he thought, maybe not. He and Jack had been fixing the stockyard rails all day and Cliff had also cut his finger badly.

Sunday was the day he’d hoped to go to the beach with Bert, but he didn’t finish work until 11.00. He went home instead and was back to milk at 4.00. WH was in a filthy temper and told Cliff things about Eric that Cliff didn’t believe.

Monday was hectic. Jack and his Dad had a row over a bulling (in heat) cow. This ended up with Jack telling WH what he thought of him, and Jack getting the sack. He told his father what a miserable man he was, how he’d helped with their milk run as a kid, and how WH had taken all of Jack’s earnings from his newspaper delivery round.

On Tuesday Cliff got the sack too. That morning Jack’s wife Ethel never appeared at all — sick or crying, Cliff assumed. Jack didn’t say a word to Cliff, who was wondering whether the firing would stick.

Crunch time for Cliff came when WH criticised him for the way he was handling WH’s team of two horses. Cliff thought this was just an excuse to fire him, as he’d been working horses for years and by then considered himself to be very professional. Certainly no one else had ever criticised him. By then he’d also discovered that WH had been eavesdropping on him and Eric.

Cliff said he’d leave immediately if WH didn’t dock his wages in lieu of notice. WH agreed and told him he’d meet him up by the fence with his pay, so Cliff handed him the reins and went to pack.

With his motorbike loaded he rode up to the fence and waited until WH appeared with the wages book and a cheque.

Cliff signed the book without reading it.

WH then pointed out that he had in fact deducted a week’s wages from Cliff’s cheque, and that Cliff had signed to accept it. An argument followed with Cliff saying he wasn’t leaving without his money and WH telling him he could go to hell. It ended with WH heading indoors to call the police and Cliff telling him what a miserable bastard he was before riding off.

§

Many years later Cliff happened to meet WH’s grandson in the course of business. After they’d struck up a hesitant conversation about Cliff’s history with WH, the grandson agreed that his grandfather was certainly mean, and that his father and uncle were much the same. At any rate the last time Cliff saw Jack was in the Whangarei auction house, where Jack was looking for bargains.

1936: Coal mining

Pigeon Holes
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